The Bourne Protocol
by Ava J Moore
Summary: It's been three years since Jason Bourne was shot and left for dead. Those involved with Treadstone have vanished without a trace, but someone is looking for Bourne. Someone with a vendetta. Someone who won't stop until Bourne answers for his actions.


Title: The Bourne Protocol  
><span>Rating:<span> R (adult language, intense action, graphic violence, adult content, and some drug use)  
><span>Plot:<span> It's been three years since Jason Bourne was shot and left for dead. Those involved with Treadstone have vanished without a trace, but someone is looking for Bourne. Someone with a vendetta. Someone who knows his secret and isn't willing to let sleeping dogs lie. Someone who won't stop until Jason Bourne has been tried for his crimes.  
><span>Disclaimer:<span> I don't own the characters of _**The Bourne Series**_; however, I do own all original characters for this trilogy.  
><span>Author's Note:<span> _**The Bourne Protocol**_, much like _**Underworld: The Awakening**_, is the first novel in a trilogy. I know this sounds like an ambitious idea, but it's an idea that I've been toying with for longer than I care to mention. As such, there will be characters, locations, and threads introduced in this novel that might not make a lot of sense until much later. I assure you, Constant Reader, that it's all been thought out and is being introduced so that later on it won't seem like it came out of nowhere. This being said, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Chapter One:  
><span>Three Years Ago<span>

5:47 P.M. E.S.T.  
>415 71st St., New York City<br>Blackbriar Training Facility

"I'm no longer Jason Bourne." Jason Bourne replied. The man standing before him, Dr. Albert Hirsch, let out a soft sigh of exasperation. Bourne lowered the SIG Pro SP 2022 9mm he had leveled at him. Part of him wanted to take from Dr. Hirsch what had been taken from him, but he knew that it would compromise the reason he was there. Bourne watched as he shifted his weight and allowed himself to come to terms with what Bourne might do to him.

"So, now you're going to kill me." Dr. Hirsch stated smugly. The silence in the room was deafening as Bourne found himself conflicted. He knew that he would never make it out of the building alive if he was to follow through with what the bastard in front of him was seeking; he knew that Hirsch was trying to afford the team that was unquestionably en route the time needed to reach them.

"No," Bourne whispered to Hirsch, "you don't deserve the star they'd give you on the wall at Langley." he continued. Bourne watched as his criticism sank in and a crease of anger drew across the old man's face. He knew that he had taken from Hirsch what Hirsch had taken from him: his sense of dignity. Bourne watched as the pangs of anger continued to course through Hirsch. It was within that brief moment that Bourne realized that he was a changed man. The man he was once had been erased as he had come to understand the truth of what he had done to become him.

Bourne's deliberation was interrupted with the sudden sound of someone at the door. Glancing around the room, he saw that there was an exit to his left. Taking stock of the situation, he raised the weapon, shot three rounds, and without a second thought he burst through the door. Continuing to calculate his escape he noticed the window ahead of him. He knew that he was on the second floor of the building which meant that it would be about a fifteen drop. Understanding it was the only option he had, he braced himself for the impact as he crashed into the window. Glass flew around him as he landed on the loose stone. He realized in this moment that he hadn't fallen as far as he expected but that he was on a type of maintenance area; he could reach the roof from where he was.

It didn't take him long to notice that the East River was about a hundred yards from where he was standing. Bourne's mind calculated the risks that would be ahead of him. There would be a small window that he would have to react within to follow through with his assessment and he knew that with the slightest bit of deviation would mean he wouldn't end up in the river, he might break his leg, or he might kill himself. Still, he knew that if he didn't act now he would be killed no matter what his intentions might have been. It was with this knowledge that he continued on, heading toward the roof of the building where Jason Bourne had been created out of the man once known as David Webb.

There was a sudden end to how far Bourne would be able to remain outside. He followed the small area until it wound around the building, bringing him to what he estimated was 71st street. In the distance behind him he could hear the group of men shouting. He wasn't able to make out the exact nature of their shouts, but he understood that the men had figured out that he was heading for the roof. If this was the case he would have everything he required to make his escape. As he watched the cars roar along below him he saw another door. Taking the risk he burst through it and was met with another corridor.

Following his instinct he searched each of the doors along the corridor. Most were medical rooms similar to the one he had confronted Hirsch in, but he knew that there had to be a stairwell. There was an unease that washed over him as he listened. It had become a sudden silence. Something wasn't quite right, but Bourne knew that he didn't have time to allow himself the luxury of paranoia. He had to keep moving.

Glancing to his right, he saw the door he was looking for and raced along the stairs. Within seconds he had broken out into the open air. In the distance he could make out the sounds of sirens, horns, and the cacophony of New York. Listening closer he could make out the crashing of the East River below him, an answer to his directional inquiry. Bourne continued to move along at the fastest speed he could muster, his muscles now burning from his prior injuries from his encounter with the man in the street.

As the ledge came into view he heard the unmistakable sound of a weapon being raked. Bourne knew that he had reached the "end of the line." This was the moment he had been waiting for. As he turned around to face the man with the weapon his mind scanned through the countless options he had before him. It wasn't until he came face-to-face with the man that had chased him through the streets of New York about an hour before that he knew the what options he had.

Looking at the man before him, a man knew as Paz from an encounter several days before and a file in Vosen's office, he noticed he was carrying the Beretta 92SB. Bourne also knew that the men who were chasing him through the facility would likely be carrying Glock 17s, none of which were more than the standard 9mm rounds. Bourne knew his survival depended on this. He wouldn't be able to accomplish what he was setting up to do without it.

Paz leveled the Beretta at Bourne and steadied himself. "Why didn't you take the shot?" he asked. Bourne stared at Paz for a moment, studying the man, unsure of the exact nature of what he was being asked. He searched his mind for the meaning behind what he was being asked, but drew a blank. He was unsure if he was asking why he didn't take the shot in the street or was this something to do with his meeting with Hirsch, but none of that seemed to matter to Bourne. He was changed now, a different man, he was no longer the Jason Bourne that Paz was expecting to encounter.

Bourne felt the chill of the air brushing against him and watched as Paz kept the Beretta leveled at him, blinking repeatedly. After a long silence he offered Paz a response, "Do you even know why you're supposed to kill me?" he asked. Paz continued to stare at Bourne. He seemed to be unwavering, but Bourne saw the conflict in his eyes. "Look at us," he said softly, "look at what they make us give." he continued. There was an apprehensive tone to his voice that felt almost alien to him.

The quiet resolve between the two men was shattered as the team that had been sent after Bourne crashed through the doors. Bourne looked to where the sound had come from, counting the seconds until the team would reach them, and took a breath. Glancing back to Paz he knew that he wouldn't take the shot. He had managed to reach the man beneath the assassin. As the sounds of the footsteps became louder, Bourne shot Paz a look and took off toward the edge of the roof. He listened as the men continued to search for him. It wasn't long before he was at the end of the roof. Wasting no time he leapt off the roof. Seconds after he left Paz's line of sight he heard the sound of one of the Glock's cut through the air.

Bourne didn't have much time to brace himself for the impact in the freezing water of the East River. He felt the sharp sting of the ice water as his body lazily smacked down, sending ripples through the East River. Listening, he could almost make out the sounds of the men above him. He had to strain to hear what was being said, but from what he could tell it sounded like Vosen was berating Paz for not taking the shot when he had the chance. Bourne found it difficult to hear as the water crashed around him, filling his ears with errant amounts of the ice water surrounding him. The last thing he could hear was Vosen's response to Paz.

As he drifted, lifeless in the East River, his mind became numb and instinct took over. He could feel his muscles become tense, his eyes burning, and teeth ache from the frozen water surrounding him. Bourne felt himself beginning to loss consciousness. It became clear to him that the water was much colder than he had anticipated and he knew that if he didn't maintain movement that it wouldn't be long before hypothermia would kick in. Straining, he could hear the faint echo of the door shutting hundreds of feet above him. Calculating how much longer he could remain in the water before he would reach his breaking point, he felt numb in his left hand.

With all his effort, he directed what little energy he had left to his legs. He could thrust himself the several hundred yards to the shore, with enough effort, and he knew that he had to move fast. _Remain focused, Bourne _echoed through the hall of his mind as he felt himself coming alive. He knew, from extensive training, that it was better to conserve energy and allow himself to drift for a few moments and then resume thrusting. _Don't stop moving _his mind screamed at him as he drifted through the ice water. Lifting his head above the water, he noticed that the shore was closer than he believed. Relief coursed through him as he continued to drift and thrust.

Climbing out of the East River's chilled water, Bourne felt himself shiver briefly. It was an action that seemed alien to him; one that he had staved off with years of training to eliminate the natural responses. Glancing around he took note of the vehicles around him. Bourne instinctively knew that if he was to be successful in the mission he would need a vehicle that wouldn't stand out. Climbing over the side rail he saw a 2004 Focus. Staggering toward the car he calculated his next move. He knew that it wouldn't be long before Treadstone would, under Vosen's orders, be searching the area. Vosen hadn't reached his station within the CIA being the type who allowed things to remain unresolved.

Reaching into his pocket, Bourne removed a small needle that he had taken from one of the medical trays back in the training facility. Removing the syringe from the needle, he shoved it into the door lock of the car and rotated it. Within a second there was a soft click and Bourne knew that the lock was disengaged. Taking one final look around to make sure he wasn't being watched, he reached down and opened the door. In one swift movement he climbed in and closed the door. Using his right hand he removed the small section of the dash that would allow access the wiring harness of the car. In his left hand he drew a knife and in a matter of seconds he had managed to hotwire the car. Glancing left and right he threw the vehicle into drive and slowly lurched out of the parking lot of the small ice cream shack he had washed ashore at.

9:23 A.M. E.S.T.  
>6955 East Main St., Bangor, Maine<br>Starbucks Coffee Café

Nicole Parsons sat alone with her Chai Latte. It had been almost a week since she had last seen Jason Bourne and she found herself wondering if she would ever hear from him again. Taking a sip from her Chai she let out a long breath and looked down at the small notebook she had brought to the Starbucks with her. She could hear the static white noise from the television across the room, the anchor man in the middle of a story about the newest budget cuts in Congress, but she could have cared less. She was waiting for the news of what had happened at a small office building in central New York City. She had heard it being discussed on the local news stations and knew that it would soon be reiterated.

Resting her Chai on the table she checked over what she had written. One of the many things she had picked up from Jason was the desire to write. He had been an advocate of writing, often saying that it was most undiluted form of creation. It was one of the few memento's she kept from their relationship. As she reached out for the pen she had brought along with her she found her attention drawn to the television. The anchor had announced that those involved with a conspiracy would be held for their crimes and that after seventy two hours of searching the East River the remains of Jason Bourne had yet to be located. As she heard the sentence being formed she felt the edge of her mouth twist into a smile. He had survived the encounter.

As she leaned back in her seat she watched as her cell danced across the table. Glancing over to the screen she saw that it was an unlisted number. Reaching to answer the call she felt her heart skipping a beat. "It's done," a faint male voice announced, "you are safe - for now. I'll be in contact." the man continued. There was a sense of relief that washed over Nicky that she hadn't felt in years. She knew that the man on the other end of was Bourne; who else could it have been that would have known the situation and score? Resting the cell back on the table she returned to her writing. For the first time in recent memory she felt like everything might be better.

9:31 A.M. E.S.T.  
>7083 East Main St., Bangor, Maine<br>Outside Starbucks Coffee Café

Bourne watched from across the street as Nicky returned to her writing. A faint smile formed across the outer limits of his mouth. For the first time since he had been shot and left for dead in the vast ocean he could remember the best years of his life - the ones he had spent with the woman sitting in the café across the street from him. Part of him wanted to walk across the street and share a coffee with her, catch up on what he had missed, and make things right between them, but he knew that it would be too soon. He would have to limit his contact with her for now. He was still being tracked - even if those involved with Treadstone were incarcerated or dead - and the last thing he wanted to do was bring this to her door. He owed her more than that.

Taking one final to collect his thoughts he shifted his weight and waited for the crowd that was drawing towards him. Running his right hand through his frosted blond hair he let out a soft sigh tossing the cell her had acquired several minutes earlier in the trash can across from him. He wasn't sure where he was heading or how long it would be before he would contact Nicky again, but what he knew was he wouldn't take the same route he had with Marie. The best chance he had at vanishing now would be to remain silently in the masses. _I'm no longer Jason Bourne _he thought ruefully. Moments later the crowd caught up with him and in a matter of seconds he was nothing more than a face in the crowd.


End file.
